


Doubt

by KZDipped



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Amnesia, Blue Leader - Freeform, If you can guess why Tord doesn't call Tom tom anymore I'll give you a sticker, Lies, Red Leader, alternate ending to "the end", as is in any story involving Tord, it is a crucial story point, not me, oh wait i do haha, pain and suffering, where'd Edd and Matt go, who knows - Freeform, y'know because all of this is pretty much impossible without that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-17
Updated: 2016-11-29
Packaged: 2018-08-31 11:59:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8577727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KZDipped/pseuds/KZDipped
Summary: When you're left with nothing, who else should you trust?





	1. Don't Forget About Me

“HA! No! What would I need friends for when I have this? I’M UNSTOPPABLE, AH HA HA HA!”

“HEY! SUNSHINE LOLLIPOPS! Take a SEAT!”

Tord turned the robot, just in time to see one of his own furniture cubes thrown at him from the blue-hooded figure far below. It bounced off harmlessly, almost comically. “Oh, SHUT UP!” With the flick of a lever, Tom and the house were gone, reduced to so much rubble. For a moment Tord was shocked; although he had launched the missile, even through the adrenaline coursing through his veins, he felt some small regret at destroying his old home, not to mention, Tom’s no doubt death. The cries of his comrades as they climbed through the wreckage was slightly muted; their loss must have been devastating, but it didn’t seem capable of reaching through to Tord, he was protected way up in the metal casing of his war machine. At least, that’s what he told himself.

A sudden crash from the right quickly snapped him back to reality; his own robot’s fist had smashed into the body, sending the robot reeling. As another hit landed, this time from the other fist, it was all he could do to keep the bot standing. He registered through the now cracked windshield that Matt and Edd were messing with the manual controls; how had those idiots managed to learn its function? Dodging the miniature fists now pelting at him from within the cockpit (why on earth had he installed those?!), he scrambled for the controls, trying to regain control before the robot tore itself apart. Matt and Edd continued to mash the controls, until they were, for some reason, distracted by something on the neighbours’ property, giving Tord just enough time to open the blaster in the palm of the right fist and short out the control box. (He aimed perfectly, and didn’t hit Matt or Edd, although he would never admit that was his intention). “HA!” He shouted, his voice broadcast from within the bot. “Goodbye Edd! World’s not going to take over itself!” He primed the bot for flight, flicking switches and pressing buttons, until-

“I’M-unngh-NOT-aah…Y-YOUR FRIEND!” Tord looked down at the wreck of the house to see Tom, attempting to pull himself and what looked like a harpoon gun of all things from the rubble. For a moment Tord didn’t react at all; the sheer absurdity that Tom was even still alive shocked him. But then a grin fell over his face; all the more opportunity to have some fun with his new enemy. He postponed the take-off orders, instead moving the robot closer to the remnants of the house. Tom, seeing this obvious shift in plans, panicked and shot the harpoon; it glanced harmlessly off the bot’s side, at most scratching the paint. With a laugh Tord leaned the robot down, grabbing his old friend in its hand and pulling him out of the wreck. Tom cried out in obvious pain; he had still been partially trapped beneath a wall, and most definitely being held in this metal grip was aggravating any and all injuries. He struggled momentarily, as Edd and Matt called out for him, trying to scramble over themselves, but with no real plan in mind; there really was nothing they could do. Tord tightened his grip, watching in satisfaction as Tom crumpled in his grasp, unconscious. Ignoring the calls of his former friends, he set the flight instructions to start, leaning back in his chair comfortably. If Tom survived the trip (and Tord sincerely hoped he would, for a multitude of reasons; the foremost being it’s no fun to kill someone who’s already dead) they would have quite the time on his home turf.

The trip back to base was uneventful; Tord really thought he’d be feeling more accomplished at this point, after all, he had all he needed now to really start his world-domination schemes. But it was emptier than he had hoped, especially when he landed and realized Tom was still in the robot’s fist. He released him, ordering the soldiers who had run forward upon his arrival to take him to sick bay, but keep him under lock and key; not that it looked as though he could go anywhere at this point, Tom was far worse for wear than he had originally thought. His hoodie had ripped, probably got caught on the house, revealing harsh burns across his arms and chest. There were similar wounds up his neck and face, although not as severe; the worst seemed to be a large gash on the back of his head, which had stopped bleeding at this point but still seemed to be quite the issue. He wouldn’t rule out any internal injuries at this point of course, but from what Tord could see, Tom had quite enough to keep him out of the way for a while. Several soldiers escorted him away, and before long Tord was caught up with the bustle of congratulations and debriefing.

Leading an army is a good distraction for anyone, and for Tord it was perfect. The next few days were so busy, he forgot all about his prisoner, bar the few times soldiers approached with updates. Surgery, skin grafts, and scarring, it all kind of blended into a blur; because here was the high Tord had been looking for, the entire army behind him and overjoyed at their latest victory, plans moving forward at break-neck pace; their hold on Norway was well-established, and already they were quietly moving into France, their plans to take out governments overnight working beyond all expectations. So it wasn’t until one evening, about a week after his triumphant return, that the report of a new diagnosis really made Tord stop and think about what he’d gotten himself into. “You’re sure?”

“Positive, he has all the symptoms. How would you like us to proceed?”

“Keep him under until I have time to consider a solution, it’s not like it can hurt. I’ll get back to you tomorrow.”

The soldier nodded, dismissed. Tord mused over this new development; not what he had expected, but… a new kind of revenge might be in order.

* * *

 

Thomas was confused. At least, he assumed that was his name, because that was what the nurse had told him when he woke up the first time. After they had put him to sleep again, that was the only detail he could remember; before that was all a haze of red that gave him an uncomfortable twinge if he tried to think about it for too long. He knew where he was; a medical bay in a military base, as the nurse had informed him just now before hurrying off again. His arms were covered in bandages, that sent a small shock of pain running through his body when he touched them; the same with his chest and neck, although not as severe. His head in particular ached; a dull throbbing pain was constant on the back of his skull, he didn’t try to touch the place. Why any of this was happening was the detail that alluded him; really, it was mostly his number one question at this point. As far as he could figure, he had been in an accident? But why, and where, and what was he doing in a military base of all places?

The door opened suddenly (he was in a private room) and a man walked in, with the air of someone in charge. He smiled at Thomas, and Thomas took in his distinguishing features; the clean-cut military jacket, his grey eyes winking mischeviously in the dull light, and probably most obvious, his spiked hair in the shape of horns. His name tag read Red Leader, and Thomas couldn’t help but think that this wasn’t someone he would immediately trust. Everything about him was too nice, too honest; there was no way he could be legit. But then again, what did he know? Not a lot, at this point.

The newcomer nodded at Thomas, pulling up a chair beside his bed. “How are you feeling today Thomas?”

“Uhm, alright? Sore.” Thomas’s voice was hoarse, a fact that he noted with slight cringe; too high-pitched. ‘Red Leader’ seemed to catch on to this; he passed Thomas a glass of water from the bedside stand, previously unnoticed. Thomas accepted it gratefully, drinking it quickly; he hadn’t realized just how thirsty he had been. “Thanks,” he said after, handing back the empty glass.

“No problem.” The man paused, as if unsure of where to start. Thomas wished he would just get on with it, he had already reached his own conclusion to what was going on and wanted someone to confirm it. “I assume you’ve been informed of where you are?” Thomas nodded, so he continued, “But I’m guessing you still have questions.”

“Yes… what happened?”

“The biggest one, good, let’s get that out of the way.” He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a sigh. “You were out on a mission, undercover, and unfortunately got caught in one of our targets right as a bomb went off, collapsing the building you were in with you still inside. We had a read on your location, but you were pretty banged-up, we weren’t sure if you’d pull through…”. He let out a nervous laugh, and Thomas wondered if he had been worried. “Anyway, you obviously have, but the doctors think you have-“

“Amnesia.”

He blinked at Thomas, then laughed. “You were always quick to catch on, I don’t know why I would have thought that changed.” His accent was obvious, although Thomas couldn’t quite put a name to where in the world it came from. “Yes, retrograde amnesia of some sort, although we can’t confirm for sure if the memories will come back or not, they usually do. But life is going to be different now anyway, so don’t worry about recalling the specifics of your job before.”

“What do you mean? You said I was undercover, but that doesn’t really explain anything.”

“Oh of course. Prior to this, you took direct orders from me, and I was the only one who knew of your existence. It was great for covert missions, you were quite successful. But now I think it makes more sense to announce your presence to the rest of the army, and give you an actual position.”

“What army?”

“Red Army, we’re a revolutionary group that’s going to take over the world and fix it.” He seemed particularly enamoured with that statement; it was probably the mission statement of this organization. “I’m the leader, Red Leader, although you usually called me Tord to get on my nerves, not many people still know my real name.”

Thomas blinked at this new info, trying to get a grasp on it all. Whenever anything felt familiar, it would slip away, revealing nothing of his prior life. “Okay. How do we know each other then?”

“We were friends in high school, had similar world views; a few years later, I called you up with a job offer, right when I was first starting this force, and you said yes. That pretty much takes us up to now.” Tord shrugged, the fabric over his shoulders rippling gently. “I don’t know much about the rest of your life, I apologize for that, but we might be able to find some info, hack some government accounts, you know. I mean… I guess I kind of assumed you’d like to stay.”

Thomas hesitated, trying to follow this new train of thought. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you’re welcome to leave, we’ll do our best to find out where you lived and anyone you might know, and you can take up a normal life, we don’t want to hold you hostage or anything.” Tord looked down, rubbing his hands together gently. “I for one would prefer you stay, but of course the option is there.”

“At this point, what choice is there?” Thomas shook his head, then winced. “I’ll stay. It’d be pretty stupid to leave the only people who can figure out who I am.”

“That is one way of looking at it, I suppose.” Tord stood, a small smile on his face. “I’ll leave you to rest then. Once you’re up and about, we’ll introduce you to the rest of the army, and establish your rank and position. I have much to do in the meantime; but I’ll be back to check on you later, alright?”

“…Sure. Thanks.”

Tord left the room, closing the door behind him, and Thomas sank back into the bedsheets. He was already exhausted somehow, just by that small interaction; it made him tired just to think of whatever Tord had in store for him. Tord. He didn’t remember that name; but there was a ring to it that made him feel just slightly more at ease. He certainly seemed to know Thomas, and that was already more than he needed to feel convinced of an ally. Still, as he drifted off to sleep, and as much as he told himself it was nothing, Thomas couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something, somehow, was terribly wrong...


	2. Believe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introductions and explanations  
>  ~~also communism~~

Several days later Thomas was cleared to leave the sick bay, and Tord took him to show him around base. “This is only one of several mind, we have them stationed throughout Europe, although the rest are in more mountainous locations, it’s easier to hide.” Tord gestured outside, through one of the few windows above ground. “Most of this base is underground, from above it only looks like an old recreation centre or something of the like, and with the ghost town nearby it isn’t hard to keep up the act, as long as we time exits and entrances well.” 

Thomas nodded, trying to catalogue that info for later use. “I guess it’s pretty strict on who’s allowed to go out when?” 

“Yes, everything is timed in accordance to any flights going overhead, military or pedestrian, so that no one is seen. Any soldiers who disobey those orders are court-martialled, usually imprisoned, it’s that serious.” Tord led him past the window, leading him further into base. They took a staircase down, soldiers already on the stairs stopped to salute their leader, and cast odd glances at Thomas. Thomas wasn’t necessarily bothered by these, it was to be expected when a new face was suddenly quite friendly with the man in charge; of course it would take time to build trust with the company. But that wasn’t to say they didn’t put him out a bit. 

Tord seemed to notice a particularly curious glance and Thomas’s sharp ignorance of it, and turned to say, “We’ll announce your role tonight at dinner, so all the recruits can hear. It’ll take some time for them to get used to the idea of course, but they should catch on before long.” 

Thomas jumped the last couple stairs, keeping level with the leader’s long strides. “Yeah you’ve said that, but can you explain what exactly my role is? You haven’t really clarified that at all.” 

“Well, I’ve still been talking to my advisors about that, trying to work out exactly how much of a position I can give you without people really getting worked up about it. I would like to make you my second-in-command, but outright declaring that when you’ve only done undercover work before would seem strange; and it’s not like I can just explain to everyone why I would trust you with that position.” 

“Well, why would you?” 

Tord hesitated, leading Thomas down yet another hallway. “We’ve known each other for quite a while now, and before the accident especially we were in contact quite often. The work you put out was exemplary, and I don’t believe you ever had a failed mission. I was considering offering you a higher-up position anyway, before everything went wrong.” He motioned to a large set of double-doors, leading into almost a gymnasium sized-room with tables set up across it. “That’s the cafeteria, nearly everyone gathers there at dinner, but the rest of the time it’s drop in whenever you have a chance, most everyone is busy with something during the day. If you’re not out on a mission, you’re training, or helping plan another, or doing research on the enemy to exploit any obvious weaknesses they might have. It really is a team effort here, if we were down even one soldier the work load would increase on all the others.” 

“You said there were about ten thousand soldiers altogether though, didn’t you? How can one make that much of a difference?” Thomas asked as they continued on their way, taking another staircase down and passing a security checkpoint. Since he was with Red Leader, none of the security batted an eye at Thomas, but he doubted that if he tried to come down here on his own they would be so easy-going. 

“Yes, but spread out over four bases, and many are undercover on missions right now, stationed exactly where we need them to be in order to take an area. There are really only a thousand soldiers at a base at a time, and many missions being run; I think at this moment there are somewhere around thirty that I’ve approved? Twenty that are ongoing, and each of those can have up to a hundred working on it at once, although of course some are much smaller scale. We are a military as well, so of course people get vacation time and time to see their loved ones if an emergency comes up.” Leading Thomas into a much darker hallway, lined on both sides by heavy steel doors, Tord pointed to one in particular, with a red symbol spray painted sloppily across the metal. “That’s my lab, the rest of the rooms down here are weapons’ bunkers and miscellaneous equipment, all heavily locked down; if you ever need to see me though, and I’m nowhere else, try down here.” He turned around, heading back up the way they came, and Thomas hurried to follow. “We don’t really carry radios down here, number one because they don’t work extremely well underground, but number two we don’t want our channel being heard by anyone on the outside accidentally; we’re working on a solution, but until then it’s important to know where everyone could be at any given moment.” 

“Makes sense.” Thomas thought back over some of the conversations they had had while he was still in the sick bay, trying to think if there were any details he had missed. “You still didn’t really clarify though, what exactly would my job be? Leading soldiers, going on missions?” 

“For now it wouldn’t be much, I want to put you through some basic training to make sure you still have a grasp on those concepts, although I’m sure you retained the basic knowledge, I want to be sure you won’t die on your first mission with a proper squad. Your methods were always… makeshift, at best, so a little discipline and procedure couldn’t hurt. After that, though, I’d give you a command of at least one squad, to take out on missions and be kind of a special ops squad? Depending of course on how you do in training, and whether what I have in mind is even applicable anymore.” Tord shrugged, continuing on past the hallway they were in before and down into a series of offices, leading to another stronger looking door, more plain this time however. “My office, again if you're looking for me, a good place to check. I’m sorry I can’t tell you more, I just don’t want to give you standards to feel pressured to meet, you’ll perform better if there are none.” 

“Alright.” Thomas thought again as they continued on, now heading towards the dormitories. “Any luck going through my records yet, figuring out what family I have or anything?” 

“Nothing yet, it’s not like I had your file on public record of course, you were a secret operative; but there’s definitely information to be had, it just might involve a little more work. I’ve put a few of my more talented techies on it, hoping to hack some government pages for a birth certificate or anything of the like.” Tord slowed down, allowing Thomas to walk alongside him comfortably. “How are you taking all of this? I guess I kind of forgot in all the excitement, but you’ve been through quite the traumatic experience; how are you feeling?” 

Thomas considered this for a moment. What was he expected to say? Of course he was still sore from the various injuries he had suffered, of course he had nightmares every night, although he could never remember anything about them; nothing about this situation was fine. But then again, the thought of talking it over seemed worse, even if it was to a close friend. “I’m fine,” he said; then, confronted by a skeptical glance, continued, “I am, it’s just a lot to take in… but it’s not like I can do anything to fix the problem by worrying about it; either my memories will come back or they won’t.” 

“Ha! Spoken like a true ‘witness,” Tord laughed, then stopped when he saw Thomas’s confused frown. “Ah, sorry, old nickname. But here we are.” 

Before Thomas could stop and consider what Tord had called him, Tord unlocked a door to a small room, a private bedroom it seemed. Thomas followed Tord inside, glancing around at the plain room’s offerings. There was a bunk at one end, beside a door leading in to what Thomas assumed was a bathroom; on the other, a desk with a closed laptop on it, as well as other office-type supplies, paper and pens as well as other tools. There weren’t many other personal items, as everything in here was fairly plain; Tord took a seat on the bed, looking up at Thomas almost nervously. “This is your room; sorry there aren’t many personal effects, I wasn’t sure of what to put in here… there are a few things, but if you want anything, just let me know and I’ll get someone on it.” 

Thomas nodded. “Thanks. It’s not like I know either, so… yeah, thanks.” 

The two were quiet for a moment, both not quite sure where to go from here. Well, Thomas had an excuse of course, and maybe Tord was just awkward, although that wasn’t a trait Thomas would use to describe him given the time they had spent together. “Well… I’ll leave you to get settled, dinner is in an hour if you can find your way back.” 

“Yeah, I remember where it is.” Thomas stood to the side as Tord left the room with a quiet goodbye, leaving him to examine the rest of his new living space. He was right, the other door did lead to the bathroom; a small space, although he imagined it was better than most recruits got, with a standing shower, toilet and sink. Checkered tile along the wall made him smile; but he wasn’t sure why. Annoying, to say the least. He paused on the way out, glancing into the mirror. The blank eyes that peered back at him still gave him a shock. When he had first seen himself in a mirror, back in sick bay, Tord had assured him that the black voids were normal; he had had them as long as Tord had known him. But still, it was unnatural to say the least. Only one of many things he’d like answers for. 

Back into the room and examining the desk, he found the drawers were empty, bar a blank journal, which he supposed was standard issue; it seemed like something a military would give out, somewhere to record your thoughts in case you were lost in battle, although Tord seemed to prevent that whenever he could. The laptop on top started to boot up when he opened it, a pc brand, so he left it to start up and opened up the closet. There were a few sets of clothes hanging inside, one of the jackets he had seen Tord and other recruit wear, probably standard for the organization; there were a couple t-shirts and sweatpants folded and set on top of an empty bin of drawers, similar to the ones he was wearing now; plain, but comfortable. There were a few button-down shirts, and a couple different vests, along with dressier pants, most likely intended for formal events, although Thomas had to say he already liked the look of those. One of the only other things that caught his eye was a checkered tie, hanging in the corner, that looked, like the checkers in the bathroom had done, appealing. He wondered if he used to like that design; it was for sure interesting, but a little unconventional. He pulled the tie out to investigate it further, but in doing so noticed something he hadn’t seen in the corner yet. 

He reached back for this new item, letting out a small whistle when he realized what it was. It was a bass guitar, shiny blue with what looked like brand new strings, a black strap for easy playing and a small brand logo near the top. Thomas took the instrument to the bunk, taking a seat and holding it carefully in his lap. Strumming it experimentally, he supposed he used to play; otherwise, why would Tord have left this? Still, he didn’t know what use it would be if he couldn’t remember how. 

He continued to play with the strings, letting his mind wander. He was still… uncertain, to say the least, about a lot of things. Namely, why he had felt at some point that working for a revolutionary force was a good idea. Not that he was necessarily against it now; but it seemed strange, even if he and Tord had been friends prior. Surely he had had some kind of normal life on the side, friends, family, a day job? And now that he was missing, were those people looking for him? Although, in this remote place, there couldn’t be much chance of them finding him; it would be up to whatever resources they had here to find that party first. (Thomas was blatantly ignoring the possibility that perhaps, no one was looking.) 

But if what Tord said was true, it shouldn’t be long til they find some kind of lead. It’ll be fine, it’ll be fine…. Thomas hummed softly to himself, ceasing to think too clearly about anything… Until he realized he was very clearly playing the bass, and with no small amount of skill either. He stopped in surprise, listening to the last of the notes ring out. That had been a tune, definitely. Apparently this was one of those skills you could retain, like riding a bike. Of course, he didn’t know what song that was, but still; that could come back to him. Music, he was pretty sure, was sometimes used as therapy for different mental illnesses; why not amnesia too? Anything had to be a step forward. 

A glance at the clock revealed it was nearly dinner time; Thomas set aside the guitar in favour of changing into some more professional looking clothes. He decided on the military jacket, since that was obviously the standard attire, with one of the blue dress shirts underneath and black pants. After a moment’s hesitation, he decided against the tie; it didn’t seem to quite match the rest of the ensemble. 

The walk to the mess hall was quick, and Thomas lingered in the doorway, just taking in the general air of the space. Recruits were scattered throughout the room, clustered in groups at tables or in line for food, chatting and laughing. The atmosphere was friendly, these people were obviously comrades in arms. The tables were set in an orderly fashion, but people leaned across them to shout at others, and the general feel was relaxed. Interesting for a military force. 

A sudden clap on the shoulder made Thomas jump; he whirled to see Tord, a slight smirk on his face. “Glad to see you made it,” he said, speaking up slightly to compensate for the volume in the room. “Come on, I’ll gather the troops.” 

Thomas followed him across the room, until a sudden thought alarmed him. “Tord,” he said, hurrying to keep pace with the leader, “I’m not going to have to speak am I?” 

Tord was quiet for a moment, thinking it over as they continued across the busy room. “No, not yet anyway; I’m just going to explain the basic situation, if we don’t do that at least there would be a lot of rumours, it would make it harder for them to accept you. No big deal, I’ve made announcements like this before; all you have to do is stand there and look pretty.” He led Thomas up to a slightly raised platform at one end of the hall, where several soldiers were already standing about. Two of them Thomas recognized as Tord’s current right hand men, Paul & Patryck; the other was in a conversation with them, but as he saw Tord approaching, nodded to the pair and descended the other side. 

Patryck saluted as Tord approached, sending a friendly smile to Thomas. “You going to address the troops?” 

“Yes, if you don’t mind hitting the buzzer.” 

Patryck nodded quickly, crossing the stage and tapping a small button near the back wall. A quiet ring sounded throughout the hall, but obviously the soldiers knew what it meant; they quickly settled down, taking seats near wherever they were standing and looking up towards the stage. 

Thomas watched with some apprehension; he tried to stand a little straighter, look a little more professional. Tord grinned at him, although the expression was cold in Thomas’s opinion, and not very reassuring. “Good evening soldiers,” he started, stepping forward to stand at the front of the stage. “Thank you for your attention; I promise this will only take a moment. I’d like to inform you of an addition to staff, albeit not a new one.” He motioned for Thomas to step forward, and whispers broke out across the crowd. “This is Thomas. He’s been working for our forces far longer than most of you, undercover. Due to a recent… incident, he will be working from this base from this point on, as a squad leader.” The murmurs broke out into an audible rumble, and Tord raised his hand for silence. “I trust you will treat him as you would any leader, with trust and respect.” The silence carried on for only a moment, before the room broke out in applause, the group apparently deciding that if Thomas was cool with Red Leader, he was cool with them. 

Thomas flinched at the sudden loud noise, so much like a crash, so much like- But then Tord was showing him off stage, and they were sitting at a table and food was being brought, and there were introductions and congratulations and questions; so quickly the evening blurred into a mess of color and laughter and new friends. 

However, Thomas was relieved when he could finally excuse himself back to his room; he was obviously still not in great shape, and was fairly tired out. He flopped on his bed as soon as he arrived, not even bothering to strip off his clothes. He slid the bass off the bed with a sigh, allowing himself to relax into the sheets. He didn’t even want to think, everything was good right now, he was safe and warm and comfortable… and asleep. 

The room was quiet, the night passing on as it usually did in the base; quiet hallways, guards patrolling their rounds, insomniac officers working on paperwork, and the rest sound asleep… Until Thomas sat up and shouted, “EDD!”


	3. Message Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Filler (except for the part that isn't :D)

Thomas took a moment, trying to slow his breathing, get a hold of himself. His heart was pounding, and he was drenched in sweat.  He sat on the edge of his bed, hands braced against his legs, head down and eyes closed. What had happened, he had fallen asleep right, he was sleeping… and then something woke him up. A nightmare? Maybe. He tried to recall what it had been about, but with no success; he only got an impression of burning, which seemed like typical nightmare-esque material. Regardless, he was wide awake now, there was no doubt about that.

He stood up, pulling out the chair at the desk and waking up the laptop from its peaceful screensaver. It was an empty PC, brand new it seemed, with only the basics installed. He opened the web browser, considering the blank page before him for a moment before typing “Red Army” into the search bar and hitting enter. The pages that followed were mostly news sources, reporting terrorist attacks and linking them to the vigilante force. It didn’t seem as though anyone outside of the force knew much about it; there were many exaggerated rumours, guesses at the army’s size and success, with some going as far as to claim they had hundreds of thousands of undercover operatives and had already taken over much of Europe. Thomas was fairly sure that wasn’t true; at least, not yet. From what Tord had said, they were avoiding straight up war at this point; so he supposed quiet government coups was probably reality. But he also supposed they’d have more than five bases if they really had taken that much of the continent.

He hesitated for a moment; then returned to the home page, this time entering, “Thomas Edge missing person”. He hit search, scanning the far fewer results anxiously. Nothing specific came up, just general missing persons reports for multiple countries. Considering those options, he clicked on the UK page; his accent was obviously British, so this would be his best bet. Hundreds of results appeared; most old and outdated, some newer, and none him. Still though, that didn’t mean he wasn’t on the next page…

Thomas spent the next couple hours going through different websites, trying to find any trace he had left before the accident. There was nothing, no missing reports, no school records, social media yielded nothing as well. He wondered tiredly if he had even had any internet identity; in his line of work it probably wouldn't have been prudent, so even if he had had social media accounts, they were probably under a different name, an alias or something. Of course, that meant it would be a lot harder to track himself down…

A loud buzzing shocked Thomas out of his sleepy state; he whirled, looking for the source, but it stopped after a few seconds. With a glance at the clock, which was now reading five thirty, he realized it must be a wake-up call. He’d stayed up half the night. Whatever, he thought lazily, probably wouldn’t have got more sleep anyway. He got up to pull on fresh clothes (he was still wearing his outfit from the day prior) and made his way down to the mess hall, grabbing a quick breakfast before going to the training center. Last night Tord had asked him to meet there in the morning, and they would go over some of the stuff he needed to know, see how much he remembered.

As Thomas entered the training bay, Paul waved him over to the gun rack, just outside another door leading to the shooting range. “Red Leader told me to go through the weaponry stuff with you. He seemed to think you’d need minimal training.” Paul shrugged. “No pressure though, this is probably the easiest thing to practice.” He handed Tom one of the guns from the rack, an AK-47. “Do you know how to handle one of these?”

Thomas shrugged, taking the weapon in his hands gingerly. He turned it over, examine it; it appeared to be modified to hold more ammo, and tape wrapped clumsily around the neck covered cracks in the casing. It was makeshift, which surprised him; he thought the army would have enough money for up to date weaponry. Maybe it wasn’t a question of money, but a lack of providers.

“Can you disassemble it?” Paul was studying Thomas coolly, but with obvious interest. He and Patryck, besides Tord of course, were the only soldiers informed of his condition; Thomas gathered they were Tord’s right hand men, not in command, but as advisors; he trusted them more than other recruits.

Portraying more confidence than he felt, Thomas nodded; but he found the weapon came apart easily, and reassembled faster. Paul seemed pleased. “Good. But let’s see how well you shoot.” He led Thomas into the shooting range, where a couple soldiers were already plugging away at target dummies, stopping respectfully for the newcomers to put on ear protectors. Paul waved Thomas into an empty stall, the ringing of gunshots now faint, as he took up a position. Before he could start however, Paul flicked a switch, moving the target to the end of the course, far beyond what seemed reasonable for a first try. Thomas looked at him in disbelief, but Paul just gave him a thumbs up. Thomas loaded the gun and cocked it uneasily. It fired, with more recoil than Thomas had compensated for, making the bullet miss by several feet and launch into the padding. Paul moved to adjust the dummy back but Tom waved him off, wanting at least a fair shot. He fired once more, and lost sight of the bullet completely, he couldn’t tell where it had landed. He glanced at Paul, but he looped his finger in the air in a command to try again, a look of excitement on his face. Thomas did, and this time saw the results; both bullets had been bullseyes, dead center on the dummy.

They tried some other guns, at various differences and even one of the moving targets, but with each it was the same; fatal or near-fatal. Paul nodded with appreciation as they left the range, stowing the guns and ear protection away. “Red Leader wasn’t exaggerating, that was really impressive.”

“Thanks.”

“I can see why he wants you on the front, we need someone of your assets.”

“Oh yeah, sure.” Thomas wondered what exactly the ‘front’ meant. For an organization that worked in the shadows, where was the front line?

He spent the rest of the day with Paul, doing endurance testing. The general conclusion was that while Thomas was an excellent shot, he was definitely lacking in the physical fitness area. Nothing that couldn’t be fixed through regular exercise, although, Paul confided, Tord didn’t put much emphasis on strength, so as long as he was capable of running a couple miles he’d be fine. They went to dinner, which seemed more informal tonight; perhaps everyone only gathered once a week, or when Tord specifically ordered it. Many soldiers darted in to the hall to retrieve food and bring it back to their rooms, to eat while working on projects or simply relax in peace and quiet.

After dinner, Paul sent Thomas back to his room with notes on the various codewords they use out on the field and instructions to study them carefully. Thomas read some of it, but before long the words blurred together, and he certainly didn’t want to get any mixed up (it could be the difference between pushing forward and retreat). He set the notes aside for now, instead turning to his laptop once again. He would just try one more search, he had an idea how to word it differently.

* * *

 

When Tord came to check on him later, he found Tom sound asleep on the keyboard, screensaver playing softly before him. With a sigh Tord picked him up out of the chair, carrying him to the bed and tossing a blanket over him. Tom barely stirred, just curling up tighter in the newfound comfort.

Tord smirked; in the old days he would have set up an elaborate prank, but it would be foolish to do now, he needed Tom to trust him after all. He moved toward the door, but stopped when he saw the computer. When he moved Tom he must’ve woken up the pc, it was now displaying a search engine, results pitifully small. Tord read the caption, and frowned. Tom was acting just as predicted, so much for a challenge. Of course he wouldn’t find anything on himself, not after Tord had had his people erase any trace of him. If the plan continued along as expected, he’d give this up soon, move on. It’d be easier that way, if there was nothing that could hold him back.

Tom rolled over in his sleep, muttering something indeterminate. Tord glanced at him before closing the laptop and taking a letter out of his jacket pocket, a rather official looking paper inside. Might as well keep the ball rolling, this would at least keep him from prying too deep. He left the room, closing the door softly behind him. If he was right (and he usually was these days), this was going to work out just fine… for Red Leader.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the support guys! I'm so happy this fic is taking off, it's a really fun one to write tbh :D  
> You may have already seen this on my tumblr, but I'm accepting red army ocs rn to appear shortly! Feel free to submit, I'm going to end up using all of them in some way! Also, for those who have already submitted, do any of you mind your character being around and encouraging use of alcohol? I have a very specific scene planned and forgot to ask before, let me know!  
> Thanks again for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Are you proud of me mom


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